Rival Hearts
by Kosaka
Summary: Seamus Finnigan and Viktor Krum have one thing, and one thing only, in common: Quidditch. So when Viktor accepts a job at Hogwarts coaching the Slytherin team for a season, Seamus is pretty sure the Bulgarian is an enemy for life. Or is he? Slash
1. Chapter 1: Polarity

A/N: Special Thanks to TehAmazingFey for being a bouncing board when I found myself in desperate need of, you know, a plot. I didn't use any of your ideas, Fey, but I would have never finished this story without that brainstorming session early on.

Okay, so...I decided to split this fic into two for sake of the time line. 'Rival Hearts' is a companion fic for 'The Quiz' (Snarry) that anyone who has read 'The Quiz' will see actually takes place before it. 'The Game of Love' takes place _after_ 'The Quiz'.

However, you don't need to be familiar with _The Quiz_ to follow this story. It manages to stand on its own well enough.

Due to the fact that the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team, other than Viktor, are only ever given last names, I'm going to make up first names for them as needed.

_Standard Disclaimers Apply: I do not own Harry Potter or any of it's characters. If I did, there would be a lot more sexual innuendo. The only profit I make from this fanfiction is the entertainment of my readers, and a boost to my ego, if I get good reviews._

**Rival Hearts**

_Viktor Krum x Seamus Finnigan_

**Chapter 1: Polarity**

Seamus Finnigan prided himself on his sunny disposition and winning personality, but as he read the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ they both abandoned him.

**IRISH NATIONAL TEAM CRIPPLED BY BULGARIAN BEATER**

Irish Seeker Aiden Lynch was attacked last night after the team defeated

Bulgaria 170 to 140. Witnesses state Beater Andrei Volkov met Lynch in

a pub outside of Sofia after the game and the pair exchanged words, and

eventually came to blows. An Anonymous Healer in residence at Kablokov

Hospital for Magical Maladies claims that Lynch is "in stable condition, but

will not be playing Quidditch again any time soon."

The manager of the Irish Team, Desmond Brody, tells fans that Lynch's

place will be taken by the promising, young, Colin Doyle until Lynch has

made a full recovery.

In response to the incident, the Bulgarian National Team has been put

on probation for the remainder of the season and will not participate

in further games or be eligible for the Quidditch Cup this year. Volkov,

rumor has it, will be replaced in next year's line-up, but the Bulgarian

team is hesitant to make any formal statements as to who that replacement

might be. This reporter hopes it will be someone a bit less prone to violence.

_~Darren Wesley_

He threw the paper down. "Can you believe this rot?!" he demanded. "Doyle! Of all the seekers in Ireland, they just had to pick _Colin-freaking-Doyle!_ We'll never see the Cup this year now! He's a prat. No talent either. You should play for Ireland, Harry. We'd be better off."

Harry decided not to take that as an insult. He played seeker on the Gryffindor Team, but he wasn't so arrogant as to think he stood a chance against professionals like...well, like Viktor Krum, for example. Speaking of, "Krum must be really depressed." Viktor Krum--he'd met him on a few occasions, and the man seemed to exist for the sake of Quidditch. Harry found him strikingly ordinary other than that. Well, that wasn't fair. He _was_ in the Tri-Wizard Cup, so there must be something about him, but...Harry couldn't see it.

"Actually, he seems to be doing well," Hermione piped up.

"You're _still_ writing to that bloke?" Ron complained jealously.

"I'm allowed to have a _pen pal, _Ronald," she sighed before returning to the letter. "He's not happy about not being able to play, but he was offered a coaching job that will keep him busy the rest of the season. Oh, it sounds like it's going to be in England. He says maybe we can get together sometime."

"You...!"

Hermione sighed. "All of us, Ron. Honestly..."

"...oh."

"Hey, who cares about Krum?!" Seamus blurted, gesturing madly at the front page. "Lynch. Doyle. Doesn't anyone understand how traumatic this is?!" he bemoaned. No one _got it_. Quidditch was like..._life_. And if Ireland was left in Colin Doyle's clumsy oven-mitt hands, Seamus was pretty sure his life for the incoming months was going to _suck_.

The next table over, Malfoy was bragging loudly, no doubt to get their attention. "Oh yeah, we'll win this year. We have a _secret weapon_ that's going to leave the competition in the dust. You'll see." He eyed Harry, who just glared back before ignoring him in that way that wasn't really ignoring, but pretending to ignore, and therefore appearing to be above petty rivalries when one really isn't above such rivalries at all. Seamus knew all about that sort of thing...and here people thought he was stupid. Hah!

In any case, Malfoy's secret weapon--and making jokes about what it might be--temporarily distracted Seamus from his grief over the dismal prospects of seeing Ireland at the Cup again this year. The suggestions ran from yet _more_ new brooms to a giant that would bend over and fart the competition off the Quidditch Field--that one had been Seamus's addition. Harry had laughed, agreeing that Slytherin had always been full of hot air anyway. Eventually they decided that they'd just have to wait and see.

***

The Gryffindor-Slytherin game was set for Saturday afternoon, and time seemed to be flying. Seamus was still torn up about the Lynch incident the next morning. His entire extended family seemed to be too, given the amount of letters he received in the Great Hall at breakfast bemoaning the current state of the Quidditch world, excepting one cousin who was apparently a Doyle fan...but Seamus had just told Dean, "oh, that one's from Liam. We don't like to talk about him. Kinda weird, you know? Fruity. Likes red pumps a bit too much."

"What's wrong with red pumps?" Dean had asked.

"Nothing," Seamus answered. "If you're a girl."

Ron spit out a mouthful of juice. Harry made a face and had to scourgify his robes and glasses. "Thanks a bunch, mate."

"...sorry Harry, but you just don't blurt things like that out of nowhere! Blokes in red pumps don't go right with pancakes!"

Seamus dropped off mid-laugh. He went pale, and started elbowing Dean, who had been laughing and patting juice out of Harry's messy hair with a napkin. "Seamus, what..." but Dean was interrupted.

"Herm-own-ninny, good morning."

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin, turning to find--much to everyone's shock, Viktor Krum standing over her with his usual shy little smile. Everyone in the room was staring.

"Viktor!" she yelped. "I...you...I mean, good morning. Of course. What are you doing here?" she blurted, giving Ron a good stomp on the foot. She could sense him giving Krum the evil eye.

"Did you not get my letter?" Viktor asked innocently. "I have vork here this season, as coach."

"Here? You mean here at _Hogwarts_?!" Hermione declared. "I thought you meant here in _England!_"

Viktor looked as if he was mentally going over what he wrote and suddenly realized he hadn't actually said Hogwarts in it. "I vas not specific enough, Herm-own-ninny. I am sorry. I vill be vorking as coach for the Qvittitch team of Slytherin. I received an owl from a Mr. Malfoy three days ago. Since I can't play Qvidditch right now, I thought teaching Qvidditch vould be okay. I arrived last night."

The entire group went silent for a long moment and Viktor didn't seem to understand what he'd said to upset them. Harry looked as if he'd swallowed a snitch, but it was many times its normal size and had lodged in his throat. There was no doubt what he was thinking. Even Seamus could admit--if never aloud--that Viktor Krum was an amazing seeker. If he was going to coach Slytherin, they really _were_ in trouble.

"Did I say something wrong?" Viktor asked hesitantly.

"Uh. No, no," Hermione assured. "That's great. Good for you." Though it didn't sound as if her words convinced _her_, so it was doubtful they'd convince anyone else.

For once, Draco Malfoy's timing was merciful. He strolled down the isle and said, "Oh _Coach_, there you are. Come on then, I _saved you a seat_."

"I...oh. Thank you very much," Viktor answered clumsily, plodding along beside the blond.

"...guess we know what that secret weapon is now..." Harry mumbled.

Ron had gone pale. "Well," Dean said. "He only started coaching them last night. How bad can it go?"

The others gave him sharp looks for jinxing them by saying it. It looked like this time Trelawney wasn't necessary. Harry--and with him, the Gryffindor team, was going to die a horrible death by blows to the pride. The depression that leaked through Gryffindor House the next two days was tangible. No matter how many hours Harry made the team practice, nothing seemed to be coming together. How did you inspire a team when they knew they had that kind of opposition? 'Sure, they have Krum, but we have...Ron, stop cowering like that.'

Seamus watched the practices, and felt for the first time in his life like he really understood just the kind of feelings that drove people to suicide. Dean tried to cheer him up by giving him the last chocolate frog, but he wasn't ready and it splashed down into the mud before he managed to catch it--just making things that much worse. "Thanks for trying, mate," Seamus told him. "I think...I'm going to go study."

Seamus never studied. If he was considering it, Dean knew things were bad. "Hey, wait, I have a better idea. Why don't we check out that compatibility test your mum sent you. I hear they're pretty funny."

Seamus waved his best friend off on that note. "Nah. Maybe later. If I flunk another potions exam, Snape'll skin me. Mum'll dissect whatever's left when he's done. Be in the library, I guess." Why not? Things couldn't get any worse, could they? "Come get me for dinner if I'm not back by then."

***

The reason Seamus didn't study--it didn't take him long to realize--was how sleepy it always made him. He would have to keep potions homework in mind the next time he was too riled up about something to go to bed at a normal hour. So it was probably understandable that when someone tapped him on the shoulder he sat bolt upright and screamed like a girl. A strong hand behind him was all that kept him from toppling over in the midst of the chorus of 'shh!' noises. "I oh er...sorry," he muttered to no one in particular, feeling his cheeks heat as he looked up expecting to find Dean coming to get him for dinner.

But the person looking down at him with his hand on his shoulder, rather surprised at the way he'd over-reacted, was none other than Viktor Krum. "...sorry," the older man whispered. "I just thought..." His eyes wandered from the smeared scroll that Seamus had fallen asleep on to the open book, and then he raised a book he was holding to bring attention to it. "...this one would be more useful."

Seamus wondered why Viktor's hand was still on his spine. He figured the older man didn't realize it was there, but it seemed to burn a path of awkwardness in ripples up and down his spine until the only defense Seamus seemed to have left was to get snippy in hopes of scaring him off. "I'm not stupid," he snapped, snatching the book out of Viktor's extended hand. "I just didn't see it when I was looking." He focused on flipping through the book. What was he supposed to be working on again? Potions. Right. It was something about potions. He didn't have ink on his cheek, did he?

Viktor nodded. Hey, why was he sitting down? "It vas on a high shelf," he answered.

Seamus glowered at him. "Yeah. Ha-ha. It must be _so nice_ to be tall. _Excuse me_ for being vertically challenged." Had the Bulgarian brute sat down just to pick on him?

Viktor frowned. This idea had played out much better in his head. "I did not mean..." he tried, but didn't finish the sentence. Instead he settled on, "I have taken dis course in Durmstrang. I can help your studying, if you vould like..."

Seamus glowered, picked up his pile of materials, and moved three seats further to the right. "Like I need help from some nosy Bulgarian," he snipped. He did need help, but his Irish pride wouldn't allow him to sink to the level of accepting it from a Bulgarian. Ever since Ireland just barely defeated Bulgaria in the Quidditch Cup, they'd been rivals. It was even worse now that one of the Bulgarian Team had put Lynch in the hospital. Seamus was still bitter about what happened to Lynch, even if he knew Viktor Krum had had nothing to do with that. It was easier to just assume all Bulgarians are the same. Seamus wasn't in the mood to be particularly understanding.

Viktor sighed, got up, and left the library. What was _that_ about?

Seamus frowned and opened the new book to the right section at last, and grudgingly admitted to himself that this one _was_ easier to understand. _'But I'm not thanking him. No way.'_

_***_

The next morning, Snape was giving him strange looks in class. A whole ten minutes had passed and nothing had exploded. "Way to go, Seamus. Your potion's actually looking like a potion," Dean whispered.

"Shut up," Seamus complained. "I studied like I said!"

"Yeah, but 'study' for you usually means go to the library and nap for a few hours."

Seamus decided not to be on speaking terms with Dean for the remainder of class, you know, in the interest of remaining friends and all. On the up-side, his potion didn't explode. A few more classes like this, he might scrape by with an 'Acceptable'--thereby freeing up his summer for actual fun, rather than being grounded for two and a half months. It was the first patch of brightness to break through his morbid week.

At lunch, Ron and Harry were talking animatedly about the _Prophet_, which Seamus snatched, and felt a little brighter still to find an interview with Aiden Lynch, who was claiming his injuries 'really aren't all they've been worked up to be.' He was already up and around, and would be released in the next week or two--though it would probably be a month before he would be able to play Quidditch again. That was depressing, but maybe--just maybe--that incompetent bloke, Doyle, would somehow manage to get lucky enough to keep Ireland in the running after all. He hooted out a loud cheer and threw the paper to the table, knocking over Harry's pumpkin juice. "Hah! Take that Bulgaria, can't keep an Irishman down!" he declared happily. Well, yeah, he was probably jumping the gun--he knew not _everything_ the _Daily Prophet_ put to paper was gospel, but they would have no reason to lie about something like this, right? "Right then. Didn't blow up my potion, sun's shining, Ireland's still got a chance (however slim) at the _Cup_...I'm going for a walk. Beautiful day and all that..."

As Seamus nearly frolicked out of the Great Hall, Dean Thomas just rolled his eyes and laughed. "He's completely bipolar."

That was fine as far as Seamus was concerned. After all, for the moment his polarity was happily leaning towards positive. The sun felt warm and he could almost forget that life had ever been anything but perfect. He wandered the grounds aimlessly for a bit, thinking of the Irish National Team, and Lynch--praying a little that Doyle didn't fuck up too badly in the interim. As long as they could win three out of five games over the next month they'd still stand a chance at making it to the World Cup again this year. For now he'd focus on more immediate concerns--the Gryffindor-Slytherin game was only a few hours away.

Sure, he told himself, Slytherin had Krum coaching, but only for the past few days, and even Viktor Krum couldn't work miracles when Malfoy is playing seeker, right? Harry could fly circles around Draco Malfoy, damn it!

Well, all this stuff about Quidditch made him want to walk by the pitch. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. It'd get him all psyched up for today's game. He'd cheer loud as hell--good for morale, that.

But the green robes swirling around the pitch when it came into view was _not_ good for morale--namely, his. He didn't mean to spy but--oh, who the hell was he kidding, of course he was going to spy. It looked like Slytherin was practicing some new formations. Malfoy seemed to be chasing Krum around the pitch, through the goal loops and all. Merlin, that Bulgarian could fly. He remembered it from the Ireland-Bulgaria World Cup, but memory often dims with time. Seamus found himself temporarily awed before the horror sunk in. Malfoy couldn't keep up, but he wasn't _that _far behind. His moves were clumsier, but he was still clearing all the obstacles Viktor Krum was putting in his way. This put a serious damp on Seamus's bright mood.

Half an hour later he was barreling into Gryffindor Tower looking for Harry. Harry could win, right? He wouldn't let a butt-face like Malfoy out-fly him. No way. Harry out-flew a dragon! But Seamus somehow doubted that even Harry could out-fly Viktor Krum, who was coaching Malfoy...

"Harry! It's awful!" he declared, grabbing the surprised Potter by the biceps. "It's, they..." Seamus had entire sentences in his head, but they were moving too fast from one to the next and he couldn't get them out of his mouth.

"Seamus, calm down."

"But _Harry_ you don't understand!"

"Stop shaking him like that man, he's got a game in an hour," Dean said.

Harry's glasses had skewed with the force of Seamus's excessively confusing urgency.

"The game!" Seamus declared. "Harry, you've _got_ to beat Malfoy. Got to! If you win I'll, I'll...I'll wear a freaking _dress_ to the All Hallows Eve Ball!" he blurted desperately. "You can pick the damn thing out yourself."

Harry had been about to tell Seamus he had every intention of beating Malfoy anyway, but Seamus's panicked state had some pretty entertaining results. Dean was laughing. "Oh, please let me help, Harry," he joked.

Harry shrugged. "You've got yourself a deal, Seamus," he said. "You're not allowed to go back on your word."

Ron looked positively giddy. Sure, it was at Seamus's expense, but it seemed just what the red-head needed to break through his own pre-game panic. He laughed. The Gryffindor team left the common room in good spirits as the color drained from Seamus's face as he finally registered what he'd just said.

"So, Seamus," Dean mused, "what size do you suppose you are?"

"Shut up!" He didn't want Gryffindor to lose to Slytherin, on the one hand. On the other...urgh! "...me and my big mouth..."

"Oh, cheer up, mate," Dean joked. "It's one of your more charming qualities."


	2. Chapter 2: Pumps

**Chapter 2: Pumps**

Dean forcibly dragged Seamus through the portrait hole. He got Neville to help, somehow, the sheepish boy was pushing on Finnigan's spine. Seamus dug his heels in, but in the end this only served to land him face first on the carpet with a loud crash.

It had been a really close game. They'd been tied almost the entire way through, and Harry only barely beat Malfoy to the snitch. The crowd had erupted. Seamus had too, at first. It wasn't that he didn't want to celebrate with everyone else. He was just seriously regretting his big mouth. Harry might feel forgiving in his good mood, but he knew he wouldn't be so lucky with Dean.

He sat up on the floor, Indian style, and rubbed his nose. Dean, he realized, had abandoned him to Neville's care. Neville was stuttering out some apology and asking something like 'are you okay?' Seamus barely registered the words. He was watching Dean stroll over and drape an arm over Ginny's shoulder, and another over Ron's. They huddled, laughing, and Dean strolled off with an arm still around Ginny. Ron called after them, "Hey! Something that'll go good with red pumps!"

Seamus turned quite a bright shade of tomato, knowing exactly what Ron was referring to. Harry was laughing too. Hermione was the only one who looked slightly disapproving, and that was _slight--_like she was enjoying the joke, but was morally opposed to enjoying it in some way, and so her nose ended up wrinkled and scrunched--caught between an irritated clucking noise and a girlish giggle. Seamus wasn't stupid. He wasn't! It was just...he sort of tended to do stupid things. If nothing was happening he just had to _make_ something happen. It was an impulse that was hard to deny.

He sulked, and in sulking let his mind wander. If only his love life were as easy to make interesting as their potions assignments were. Dean had Ginny, though things seemed pretty turbulent and rocky these days. Seamus figured couples just went through those phases. Ron and Hermione were practically married, even if they didn't know it yet. Well, at least Harry wasn't seeing anyone--Seamus was convinced it was because Harry had damn _awful_ taste in girls. Cho Chang? Sure, she was pretty, he supposed, in that _I spend three hours in front of the mirror every bloody morning until not even an eyelash is out of place_ sort of way. Seamus figured his dream girl--whoever she was and whatever she was like--would be more of an effortless beauty. One of those people who just radiate something so special you can fixate on it for hours without realizing you'd been doing it. Something stupid and little like...hm...this one was tough. Something almost insignificant, like the loose way Krum held books as if they were something precious that he was afraid to damage and you could just imagine one slipping out of his broom-calloused fingertips and the look of surprise he'd wear...and then he'd lean over and pick it up slowly. His eyes would shift a bit, like he was wondering if anyone had seen the awkward moment, and he'd pull the book close to his chest, probably, but his fingers wouldn't clutch the worn surface any tighter. When he sat down to read he would be frowning. His hand would come up occasionally as if to brush something from his eyes, but there being nothing in his eyes--two fingers would caress the skin around it--one would glide across his brow and arch around the tender flesh of the eye, the other would cross the bridge of his nose and trace the protuberance of cheekbone just below his eye socket, and they would meet at the corner, gently curl inward upon themselves. His hand would slide down thoughtfully until the first knuckle of his pointer finger was resting on his bottom lip, and he would stare off into space like there was something on his mind that was _so much more important_ than some stupid book.

Seamus shook his head. What the hell was _that_ about? He blinked at Neville, who was watching him in concern, worrying his lower lip. How long had he dazed out like that? "...er...I...hey! Exploding snap! Let me play winner!" he declared, latching onto the first normal thing he saw.

"You can play loser," Angelina answered. "I already called winner. Besides, you kind of suck, so it'll be an ego boost for the other party."

Evil witch. The girls laughed at her joke. Actually, Seamus sort of hated girls, which, come to think of it, is probably what made them so hard to_ like_. It wasn't like he was into _guys_ or anything. It's just that girls were so pushy and so bossy he couldn't really bear to try spending too much time with them, like, on purpose. Dormant hormones, or something. He figured he'd grow out of it eventually, but his mum was getting impatient about it, accusing him of being gay and all--not that she would disown him or anything if he _was. _In fact, he thought she'd probably just shrug it off like 'oh, so I was right after all'. It was just, he _wasn't_. Not that there was anything wrong with it. He wasn't homophobic or anything--that was more of a muggle thing, really, and his dad was pretty open-minded too. Seamus figured after finding out the woman of his dreams was a witch once he'd already married her, his old man just sort of decided it was safer to just accept pretty much everything as normal until informed otherwise. Seamus wouldn't be able to convince anyone that he wasn't that sort though, not now that his _dear friends_ were plotting to shove him into a dress and red pumps for All Hallows Eve, which, for the record, was not like muggle Halloween. It was a ball much like the Yule Ball. Everyone just got dressed up and there was a big party with fireworks and lots of magic spectacles. He'd been looking forward to going this year...until now. Now he was seriously wishing he hadn't bet his last skiving snackbox on the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw match, but who would have ever thought Hufflepuff would actually win?! Ernie Macmillan was being such a pompous arse about it all Seamus really couldn't help it. And then he'd lost. Looks like he was stuck. Well, he was a Gryffindor dammit! He'd take it like a man! ...in a dress. Ugh. This was going to suck, but it was his big mouth that got him into it, so he'd just have to deal. He had, like, a week to emotionally prepare himself. And Gryffindor had beat Slytherin, which kicked arse. Okay, right. Lynch was on the road to recovery, Gryffindor still had a damn good shot at House Cup, so what if he had to wear a dress? It was only one night, and later, he'd be able to laugh about it with everyone. Much later. Like...a month or so. Seamus had never been particularly good at the long term. He was impulsive and liked surprises. And Quidditch, of course. There was nothing in the world better than Quidditch.

He managed to beat Lavender at exploding snap, but one game was enough, while he was thinking things were pretty much okay. He headed for the portrait hole.

Dean looked up. Hm? He wasn't with Ginny. Odd. Seamus thought they were surgically joined by the hip. "Where you goin', mate?" Dean asked.

Dean didn't look too happy, but Seamus wasn't good at all that...comforting stuff. Conveniently, Dean generally preferred to stew alone for a few hours and then got over it. "Owlery," Seamus said. "I'm gonna send a letter to mum about Harry's brilliant seeking, and Lynch's interview in _the Prophet_ and stuff. I haven't done that yet."

Dean smirked slightly and called him a momma's boy. It was a sort of running joke, but he knew Dean didn't really mean it as an insult. His family was just close, was all. If anyone but Dean had said it though, they were fighting words. Close friends always somehow can turn insults into compliments.

_'Well, I guess I'll go to the library first to write it,'_ Seamus realized. Couldn't really send his mum a letter without, well, a _letter_. And the library should be all but abandoned at this hour. Even Hermione was in the common room celebrating with everyone--which mostly just meant she was reading over all the noise, where if someone started a conversation with her, she'd join in. He didn't know how anyone could study so much. Hadn't she just memorized all her textbooks already?

He shook his head a bit. Who cared about Hermione, anyway. Right, letter to mum. He pushed the doors open and realized two things. Firstly, he didn't bring any parchment. Secondly, he also didn't bring a quill. Well, he'd just have to ask Madam Pince if she had some he could maybe borrow...with his best sheepish 'I am sooo stupid' grin in place. He wouldn't tell her why he needed it. If she asked, he'd beg and make up some awkward lie about a poem for some girl. He had a feeling Madam Pince would be a sucker for that kind of garbage.

Only problem seemed to be that as he made it over to the librarian's station, Madam Pince was nowhere to be found. Well, he'd just sneak some off, she'd never notice. He sneaked behind the desk and started rummaging. Let's see, there's an envelope, and some parchment. Quill, quill..."

"Excuse me," a voice above him said. Oh. Crap. "Vhere is the section for books on social gatherings?"

Seamus startled upwards to find Viktor Krum on the other side of the desk. "I...what?" Smooth, Seamus. Oh so very.

Viktor looked a little surprised. "I did not know you vorked here."

"I...no, not me. Just, er, looking for a quill." Where the hell did Madam Pince keep her quills?

"I haff a spare..." Krum offered, shuffling a bit and holding it out.

Seamus had no good reason to deny it when he was looking for one, and came out from behind the desk to take it. When his hand paused before Viktor quite released it, the older man said, "Vill you help me?"

"Er...with what?"

"I am unfamiliar with English customs regarding All Hallows Eve. I vould like to go, but...I do not vant to make a fool of myself."

"Uh, well, it's not that much different from the Yule ball," Seamus answered. "I mean, you know, wear something nice, and there's food and dancing and stuff."

"So...I should haff a date," Viktor frowned a bit like that was a snag in the plan.

"Well, you don't _have to_. I mean, you're not a Tri-Wizard Champion, so it's not like, obligatory."

Viktor seemed to be thinking on something intensely for a long moment. "You vill attend?"

Oh god. The dress. "I, uh, haven't really decided yet. I mean, there's...this other thing, so, I might do that instead."

"Ah, I see. Vell, if you do, then maybe I vill see you there."

Viktor left the library, leaving Seamus staring after him, confused. He was a complete enigma. There was no way to tell what Krum was thinking. Not that Seamus cared what such a weird guy was thinking, except he sort of...cared. Just a little. Out of curiosity. So really it wasn't caring, so much as a very idle, very passing interest. What had he come to the library for again? Oh, right. Letter to his Mum. About Lynch and stuff. Somehow, he'd mentioned Krum in the letter. Just a little. Said he was coaching at Hogwarts after his team got sacked for the year, that he'd loaned him a quill and that 'he's not such a bad bloke, I guess, for a Bulgarian.'

***

The day of the ball sneaked up on him. It was like October had just evaporated until the only memory he had of the entire month was a brief encounter with Krum in the library and then the morning of the 31st, finding a white box at the foot of his bed. He knew what had to be in it, but was afraid to look. He peeked anyway, and swallowed a lump at the sight. It had been bad, seeing the poofy under-lace in the box. It was worse when he pulled it out to get dressed.

There were red patent-leather heels that would make his cousin proud. White thigh high-stockings. The dress was a fifties retro style with a full, but short, skirt and wide straps attached to the dress with large red buttons. The buttons didn't really button anything--they were just there for show. There was a lot of white lace under the skirt to keep it poofy and poodle-skirt ish, except that instead of coming to his ankles it ended mid thigh. Square necked, red...with large white polka dots. There was a matching choker in red velvet with a white crystal heart ornament, and a lolita-ish headband that matched the dress. Seamus frowned at his reflection and cast a charm to make his hair temporarily grow down to his shoulders like a girl's.

Harry apparently took some pity on him, because the door to the Boy's Dormitory opened to reveal him with Hermione, who was carrying a small pink bag. "Er, I thought, you know, you might want help with your makeup," Harry said awkwardly. Good grief, Seamus actually had really nice legs. Not that he was checking him out. It's just that they were there for all the world to see and everything.

"...right. Thanks," Seamus answered, scrunching his nose as his longer hair got stuck in the ribbon he was trying to tie behind his neck. Ow. Okay. There. How did girls do this stuff all the time? He sat still as Hermione painted a bunch of unknown powders and pencils and creams across his face. No wonder girls were always so bitchy--having to go through this crap whenever they wanted to go somewhere. He felt like if he smiled, his face was going to crack. He smiled anyway.

"So what's the verdict?" he asked, pulling up the last straps of his courage and spinning about once in a silly little pirouette. He almost fell on his arse thanks to the heels. Walking was going to be an exercise in patience for the night, apparently.

"Like a really flat-chested girl," Harry said as if awed by the transformation some lipstick and mascara could produce.

"Good, maybe I'll get lucky and no Slytherins will recognize me. I'll never live it down." He grinned impishly though, lifting his arms behind his head and shifting his weight playfully. "I don't know how girls wear this crap all the time. The dress isn't too horrible--airy, ya know? But the stockings and the heels, and..." he wiggled uncomfortably. "The panties. The panties are the worst part..."

"You're wearing _panties_?!" Harry nearly choked at the mental image.

"Well, yeah, you'd see my boxers through all the ruffles, wouldn't ya? Dean really thought of everything. Scary bastard. But I guess that's what friends are for, or something."

Hermione and Harry excused themselves. Seamus laughed at them, calling after them "they're white and lacy!" because he knew the 'panties' thing was giving them bad mental images, and he just felt the need to rub it in a little for his own twisted amusement.

***

Viktor didn't like attending parties alone. Having a date tended to ward off his overly-adoring fans, but there was this secret little hope lodged into the back of his mind that he couldn't shake. _'Vhat if _he_ also comes alone?'_

Seamus walked in carefully. He almost tripped his way down the stairs. Nobody had seen that, right? Bah. Dean was smirking behind his hand. "So glad I could amuse you," he snipped at his taller friend.

"Yeah," Dean answered. "Me too. Heh. Don't look now, but you've got a fan."

Seamus had just been brushing some of his long hair out of his face when Dean said so. He looked up and, "oh Merlin, why him?"

Viktor Krum was standing there staring at him. Like, _really _staring. He was holding a cup of punch, but didn't seem to realize he was doing so. Someone next to the Quidditch player was trying to get his attention, but Viktor didn't seem to notice her. He was just standing there.

An hour later, Seamus could still feel eyes on the back of his neck. When Viktor finally managed to catch his eye firmly enough that Seamus couldn't pretend he didn't notice, he offered the man a sheepish smile. _'Wish I looked that good in dress robes,_' Seamus thought. _'Oh god. He's coming over!'_

Seamus felt cold dread in his chest as Viktor Krum plodded toward him. The man seemed light as a feather on a broomstick, but when he walked, each step seemed to bring more attention to his sturdy build.

Viktor was standing over him, looking all...dashing. No, not dashing just...well, sure, dashing. Everyone looked dashing all dressed up, right? The Bulgarian's lips quirked up slightly into a small smile.

"Vould you like to dance?"

Seamus found himself nodding and taking Viktor's hand before his brain caught up with him. Oh crap. Well, what the hell? The man obviously didn't recognize him. No one seemed to realize he wasn't a girl other than the people who already knew--who had stopped teasing him after about twenty minutes and gone off to dance. Ginny was dancing with Neville Longbottom. Harry was dancing with Luna. Dean had headed for the bathroom ten minutes ago and hadn't reappeared.

And now? Now Viktor Krum's large hand was resting on his lower back like it belonged there, and Seamus suddenly wasn't so sure it didn't. Except for the fact that Viktor apparently thought he was a cute girl rather than a goofy Irishman. Well, he'd go with it for now. It felt nice. He stepped on Viktor's toes a few times, but the older man didn't complain. Slow dances, fast dances, silly goofy dances...Seamus thought his feet would fall off in these shoes, but he didn't want to stop. He tried to remind himself he shouldn't be having so much fun with a Bulgarian, but then Viktor would give him this stupid little smile and all arguments melted. So what if he was a Bulgarian? He wasn't like that bloke who beat on Lynch. Krum was, you know, sweet, or something. And so what if he was coaching Slytherin? It was his job, didn't mean he liked them. And he smelled nice. By the last dance, Seamus found himself leaning against Viktor's shoulder, listening to his heartbeat. His common sense had abandoned him. His feet? What feet? He didn't notice they hurt anymore--everything else felt so strangely perfect.

"You are a very pretty voman," Viktor murmured in his ear. Seamus listened dreamily. "But I think, much prettier as a man."

Seamus's head jerked up. Viktor was watching him very seriously. He ran his hand over Seamus's cheek. "Shay-mis," he said slowly. "This pronunciation...it is good?" he asked.

Seamus felt his cheeks color. "Y-yeah. It's...you knew it was me? All along?"

"I hoped you vould come," Viktor answered quietly. "I...hoped you vould not haff a date. If you had a date, it vould haff been very hard to get you to dance with me."

Seamus found this endearing little fluttery feeling in his chest. There was this bizarre little voice in the back of his head telling him this was just the _perfect_ moment for Viktor to lean down and kiss him. His pulse was racing. How had he managed not to notice until tonight just how handsome this man was?

"Vill you valk with me?" Viktor asked.

"Uh, what?" Smooth, Seamus. Tall, dark, and dreamy just said something and you didn't hear a word.

"A valk?" Viktor answered with a little smile. "Somevhere perhaps, more...quiet."

Seamus swallowed and nodded again. Quiet. By quiet he had a feeling Viktor meant 'private'. "Y-yeah. Okay." Oh god oh Merlin oh god oh...oh boy. Viktor Krum wanted private time with him. In a dress. And panties. He felt like his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest as he let the man lace their arms together and led him out of the party. The moon was full, glittering on the lake. Viktor started leading them that way, but Seamus gave his arm a tug and pulled him into one of the side doors. "This way," he said. All the couples would be heading for that view, he figured. They wanted to be alone, and right now, with the party still going, the couples branching off for a view of the grounds, somewhere inside of Hogwarts would be better. Just the two of them. The only sound he heard was his heels tapping on the marble floor. On second thought, he made Viktor stop a moment and slipped out of the shoes, lacing their arms again and holding the heels in his other hand. Oh. Feet. God they hurt. He didn't care. Viktor was giving him these...looks.

"...what?"

"Your hair," Viktor said, reaching a hand up to the shortening strands. The charm had worn off and Viktor reached up, pulling the headband off and tucking it into his pocket for now. "I like this vay much better."

Seamus opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out as Viktor leaned down and kissed his forehead. It was a catalyst. The next kiss was on his temple. The one after that on his cheek, and then he felt tongue and teeth grazing his earlobe, strong arms wrapping around him. The pumps in his hand fell to the ground with a dull clunk as Viktor tilted his head up and kissed him deeply. He hadn't expected such passion. The kiss blazed a path of flame through his stomach and down his spine. When the older man's tongue slipped past his lips he didn't protest at all, reaching his arms up to wrap around those broad shoulders. He'd never been kissed like this. Never. So he figured it had to be a _really good_ dream.

Viktor pulled back suddenly, gaze shooting up the hall. Hey! No interruptions please! There were footsteps. He thought it just _had to_ be Filch. Couldn't the man just take one night off? Leave him to his necking? "Come on," Seamus whispered, hearing the footsteps growing closer. He grabbed Viktor's hand and pulled him up the hall quickly, closing them into a supply closet just before Filch turned the corner. He breathed deeply, remembering suddenly as he stood pressed against Viktor, hand still on the doorknob, that the red pumps had been left unceremoniously in the middle of the hallway. Oh well. There was no way Filch would figure out from that alone that they were locked up in here. _'Merlin, he smells so good.'_ Even with the strong lemony scent of cleaning solution all around them, Viktor Krum's unique scent still managed to overcome him. They listened to Filch mutter and stomp his way up the hall.

When his footsteps stopped echoing, Viktor looked down at him. "This spot is...very quiet," he said, and Seamus could swear he heard the sharp edge of desire husking the Bulgarian's voice.

"Yeah," Seamus exhaled shakily. "It is." He swallowed and let his hand fall away from the knob. Viktor's knuckles grazed over his cheek. He seemed to be searching Seamus's gaze for something. Permission, maybe? _'Oh, hell with it.'_ He put a hand on either side of Viktor's face and pulled the man down into another kiss. They'd already inhaled one another's tonsils tonight, and it had been good. He didn't see any reason not to continue now that they were in a closet together where no one was likely to go looking for them any time soon.

Viktor wrapped his arm around Seamus's back. He slid his tongue past his lips and devoured parts of the Irishman's mouth that Seamus had never even noticed he had before. The man's other hand seemed to wander. It slid across his arm, past his shoulder, up and down his side, leaving little sparks of desire wherever it went.

Their lips broke apart only when they needed to breathe, and once they had enough oxygen again they went right back to trying to swallow one another's tongues. Seamus's fingers padded and pawed their excitement across Viktor's shoulders. Viktor's wandering hand slid down past the ruffles on Seamus's hips and started to slide along his thigh. They shifted a bit awkwardly so Seamus could lean against the back wall. A small window cast silver slivers of moonlight over Viktor's features, and Seamus nearly forgot to breathe as the man descended ravenously upon him again, whispering his name. His lips trailed from Seamus's mouth and across his jaw, down to his throat and suckled at his collarbone. Now both hands were wandering over Seamus's body. Down his sides, up his thighs. He could feel the skirt rising as skin came into contact with skin.

When Viktor crushed their lips together again those hands had found the lace panties covering his bum and cupped either cheek. Seamus bucked and gasped into the kiss. He'd never been this filled with want. Viktor whispered his name against Seamus's mouth between kisses. Seamus had never imagined his name could sound so beautiful.

"Viktor..." he rasped in return. He knew his tone sounded needy. He _was_ needy--he needed more touching, more contact, more of Viktor's lips and his scent and his wonderfully calloused hands.

The older man took this as permission and slid his hands down into the lacy panties, massaging Seamus's rear, calloused hands against bare flesh now. He nipped at Seamus's lips, then devoured him in another intense kiss.

Seamus whimpered into it, feeling the panties sliding down his thighs. He didn't even have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed. He knew he'd let the Bulgarian do whatever he wanted without protest at all. He didn't even care that it seemed he was about to lose his virginity in a supply closet. Anything was fine, as long as the man didn't stop touching him.

Viktor trailed kisses down his neck again, across his shoulder and collarbone. The heat in Seamus's body as Viktor moved down it was almost more than he could bear. "Aahn...Oh Merlin. Viktor..." he rasped. But the man kept moving down without a word. His hands slid roughly down Seamus's chest and sides, and then...further than that. The rest of Viktor Krum followed until the man was on his knees before the Irishman.

Seamus leaned his head against the wall. Unable to kiss the older man any longer, he could only use the wall and Viktor's broad shoulders to hold him up, because his legs were no longer sufficient for the task now that Bulgarian's head had disappeared under his lacy skirt. His entire body shuddered violently and he was sure he was blushing in places he didn't even know _could_ blush. Tears of pleasure caused his make-up to run. And then, blinding white heat consumed him.

The next thing Seamus's lust-fogged mind registered was Viktor sitting back, licking his lips. When he rose, Viktor embraced Seamus tightly, nuzzled his face into his shoulder. Seamus could feel the older man's length stabbing him in the hip. After catching his breath for a moment, Seamus was able to move his limbs again, and tentatively reached toward the bulge in Viktor's trousers. His fingers never reached their destination. Viktor had caught the hand and placed it on his hip instead. "It is alright," he said, pulling Seamus tightly against him again. "Just let me hold you a vhile."

Seamus thought he wouldn't have minded, really. He'd never done it before, but if Viktor didn't mind a bit of clumsiness, he wouldn't have complained about pleasuring Viktor Krum in kind. And if the man had wanted to bend him over and take him--that would have been okay too. But Viktor was satisfied to caress his hair and hold him tightly. He wrapped his arms around the Bulgarian's waist and nuzzled against him. They stayed like that for a long time before he dared speak again.

"Uh, Viktor?"

"Vhat is it?"

"I mean...it's just..."

"You vant to know vhen I became fond of you?"

"Well, yeah, kind of..." Not that he was complaining. It was just he'd never had any sign before recently that Viktor Krum even knew he existed.

"It vas a long time ago, but I vasn't sure. After the Tri-Wizard Tournament, I saw you laughing and smiling with your friends. I thought then you had a very stunning smile, and I fell in love vith your laugh. But...at that time...I thought...I vasn't sure because I also had this crush on Herm-own-ninny. My feelings began then, but things vere not clear. Time passed, and I still dreamed often of your smiling face and your laughter. It carried me through many unhappy times. I thought--I must learn more about this person. Vhen Herm-own-ninny mentioned funny things you'd done in letters, I felt like I started to know you better. I vhanted to see your smiles and laughter more. I vhanted to see your face again. Then Andrei did vhat he did and ve could not play Qvidditch. I vhas offered this job. I thought it vhas fate. I vhould have the chance to see you again. But vhen I saw you again, you vhere not laughing. You vhere upset about Lynch. And you vhere still very beautiful. I tried to get time to spend vith you, but you did not seem to like me very much. And tonight, you smiled at me. And vhen I asked you to dance, you danced vhith me for hours upon hours. I thought, this is the happiest I vill ever be in my whole life. And then vhe kissed--and this vas even happier moment. I could not contain my joy. I vas taken by the moment. I vent to fast with you. I don't vant you to feel...used. I vill slow down. Next time, I vill ask you on a date properly."

Seamus felt his insides turn to mush. This man was so incredibly sweet he could hardly bear it. And desirable, and handsome and, just...incredible. His one fatal flaw was that he just _had to_ be Bulgarian. But they could work around that, couldn't they? He pulled Viktor's face down to his and let their tongues tangle in another deep kiss--this one slower than the others. He could taste himself all over Viktor's tongue, but the taste wasn't bad at all, like he'd heard--a little bitter, but not necessarily unpleasant. He could feel Viktor's hands fixing the strap of his dress, ironing out the wrinkles. The moment was not rushed as before, but incredibly tender. _'Merlin help me. I've fallen for a Bulgarian. Mum's gonna flip out.'_ But, Seamus decided, he could worry about that tomorrow.

"I vill see you tomorrow?" Viktor asked.

Seamus nodded as he was released. "I'll go to the library to study after dinner," he said. He figured it was implied that he didn't actually plan to do any studying. He smirked, running his fingertips across Viktor's cheek. "You can tutor me, teach me all about the spell you've cast on me, if you come by around seven." He grinned playfully up at the man.

Viktor's face broke into a bright smile in return--one that made Seamus think maybe in the future it would be okay to root for Bulgaria if they were playing against, like, Romania, or maybe France, or something. As long as they didn't beat Ireland or England, and that bastard Volkov was off the team now anyway, so maybe the rest of them were decent guys, or something, like Viktor. Except, not as attractive, or charming, or nice-smelling, ...and they probably didn't dance as well either. And they definitely didn't have Viktor's unique talent for making Seamus think about 'tomorrow' and making, like, actual plans.

"You go back, ya? The party must be over. I vill leave a little after you," Viktor said.

Seamus leaned up and planted another soft kiss on the older man's lips. "You sure you don't want me to...you know?" he looked down at the bulge still present in Viktor's pants.

Viktor smiled and shook his head, leaning down for another kiss. Just one more. "Another time," he said. "Ve vill go more slowly. More properly."

Seamus was enchanted, but also a bit disappointed. He nodded, and stole another kiss. This was the last one, really--before heading out of the room and padding back towards Gryffindor Tower. He wouldn't think about what Viktor was almost definitely going to do now that he was alone in the supply closet, or that he was the one who had caused Viktor to need to do it.

Instead, he went up to the boy's dorm and got changed, lovingly putting the dress back in its box and storing it carefully under his bed. He knew he'd never get rid of it, not now that there were such good memories attached to it--ones he would never share with anyone.


	3. Chapter 3: Distance

**Chapter Three: Distance**

Over the next week, Seamus was spending what Dean referred to as 'entirely too much time' in the library. He wasn't actually going there to study after dinner, but there was this big old chair in the farthest corner of the muggle studies section that was cozy enough for two if, say, the two were prone to cuddling. Conveniently, Viktor seemed rather happy to cuddle.

But Viktor hadn't been kidding. The intimacy they shared in the most private corner of the library was nothing to what they'd shared on All Hallows Eve. There was lots of hugging, and some kissing, but mostly they just sat together quietly with a book open between them. It was the first time in his life that Seamus managed to stay awake while studying and his grades were showing signs of it. He laughed when he told Viktor of the way Snape raised his eyebrow at him at the end of class when he deposited his sample, more or less the same color as everyone else's, and how he hadn't caused even a single explosion the entire class. He still hated potions, but it was nice to stick it to ol' Snape once in a while, he had to admit.

It was a perfect week that passed like a dream. Indescribably magnificent and precious. Seamus should have known it wouldn't last. The owl he got the next morning brought the world crashing back in. First there was _The Prophet's _front page: **VOLKOV BARTERS, BULGARIA BACK IN BUSINESS.**__As he read on, Seamus found that Andrei Volkov--the bastard who hospitalized Lynch, was back on the Bulgarian National Team, and that the Bulgarians were back in the running for the Cup--albeit at a _huge_ disadvantage. _The Prophet_ reporter suspected bribery. Then there was the Howler from his mum. Oh, it wasn't anything against Seamus, but the woman was livid and he, as her son, was just a convenient target. Over breakfast Mrs. Finnigan ranted, throwing out a number of hexes she'd like to cast on the team--everything from diarrhea to puss filled boils, and continued until ending abruptly with "and what's this business about Krum being a decent bloke, Seamus Finnigan! All Bulgarians are the same and no son of mine will be believing otherwise while he lives under _my_ roof!"

Seamus tried to melt into the table. Viktor was only one table away, and he was staring at his plate. He passed Viktor in the halls a number of times after that, but Viktor wouldn't meet his gaze. He figured he couldn't blame him, when people were watching. He didn't really want to admit publicly that something was going on either. But the next three days when he went to the library, Viktor never showed. He waited from six thirty until curfew each time. Sometimes Viktor was late because he had to coach those Slytherin bastards, but until now, he'd always come. The cozy chair in the back of the library wasn't so cozy without him.

On the fourth day, he almost didn't go, but he decided at the last minute that he'd give Krum one more chance. His grades had reverted to their previous state of explosive failure. He seemed to feel more tired in the morning than he'd been when he went to bed. He didn't feel much like laughing, lately. _'This is ridiculous. Who am I kidding? He won't come.'_

But no sooner had he thought it than Viktor Krum looked tentatively around the bookcase. "Seamus?" he whispered. He looked surprised to find Seamus standing there, even if he was glaring.

Seamus ran forward and slammed his palms against the older man's chest. "Idiot! Where the hell have you been?"

Viktor looked away. "I vas...thinking. And also...packing."

Seamus felt his stomach flop. "Packing," he repeated.

"...I vill leave for Bulgaria tomorrow morning." He seemed to be waiting for Seamus's reaction, for him to yell,or cry. But Seamus only stared. He just stood there. Viktor trudged on awkwardly. "Ve vill have to work hard for the Cup. I do not think ve can win it now, but...ve must try anyway. I...do not like to lose."

Seamus's fists clenched and unclenched, but he still didn't speak.

"Qvidditch...is all I have."

Seamus punched him hard in the jaw. Viktor's head turned, but he hardly flinched. He'd been hit by bludgers a good deal harder. "Yeah, right. Whatever," Seamus snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. "I get it, I'm chopped liver, just something to keep you from getting too bored while you have to suffer away from your _precious_ Volkov and then throw away when you're done." He didn't know what made him say that last part.

Viktor glared. "You vould know all about Volkov, yes? After all, all Bulgarians are the same, right?! You don't haff to say it. Your mother's feelings and yours are the same, ya?! Me, or Volkov, or anyone else, one is just as bad as the next. This is vhy you won't tell your friends vhat you've really been doing in the library every day. This is vhy you did not write to defend me or even get angry to your mother! This is vhy...ve are finished now. Ve should not haff even begun."

An icy cold shot down Seamus's spine. They'd never been together in any official sense so this couldn't really be counted as breaking up, but Seamus couldn't find words as Viktor stormed off. He wondered if this is what a Jack-o-Lantern felt like--he had this guts yanked out and carved to pieces feeling. All that was missing was the candle. He didn't make it back to the chair, and found himself sitting on the cold, stone flooring, holding his knees and just staring. He didn't cry. Girls cried. He wanted to, but he just couldn't seem to muster any kind of emotion that felt real. Was Viktor--no, was _Krum_--right? Would he have been able to tell his friends he was seeing a Bulgarian? Would he have been able to go out on proper dates with Viktor? Was Viktor worth fighting with his mother over? Could his mother even begin to understand how precious this past week had been? Precious? No, it was just a week. Just a nice week, with a warm body and a sexy voice and strong hands...he didn't have to act like something had changed.

_'I mean, Krum? Sure, he's handsome, in that rugged sort of way, and he's got a great smile. And sure, okay, I'll admit that night in the supply closet was probably the most amazing night of my life, but I'm still young. And maybe he's kind--if a little emotional--and sweet, and charming but goofy. A bit awkward, but endearing. But, none of those things mean I'm in love with him. You can be attracted to someone without having any real feelings for them. It was just a tryst. It's fine, at my age, trysts are totally normal.'_

But the next morning he was staring out the window beside Neville's bed, wondering if he'd be able to see Viktor leaving from here. He wanted to make up, to part on good terms. But that was just selfishness. That Volkov comment he'd thrown at Viktor had been harsh, sure, but hadn't Viktor been more harsh? Well, he should at least apologize for hitting him. Bah, what for? He'd barely flinched. _'I guess I hit like a girl.'_ He pulled his hand back from the glass of the window and looked down at the palm like it was a foreign object he was seeing for the first time. _'A girl, huh?'_ He remembered the red polka-dotted dress under his bed and went back toward it. He didn't know whether he wanted to look at it or tear it to shreds, but he just felt like he needed to pull it out and feel the soft material in his hands. If he could do that, somehow it felt like everything would make sense.

It wasn't meant to be. As he started rummaging around, Dean woke up. "Seamus? What are you doing? It's..." he yawned and picked up his watch. "Not even nine a.m."

Seamus lifted his head and said, "Oh, er, ya know, I was looking for that compatibility test mum sent along. Thought it might be fun," he said, moving his hand to the left and finding a black satin board and a golden needle. "See, knew it was down here." He pulled it out to support his lie. "You're up now, wanna do it?"

"Wanna do what?" Ron piped up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and yawning expansively.

Neville pushed the curtain around his four poster aside and blinked a few times. "Is that one of those compatibility tests?"

"Yep!" Seamus said, forcing a little extra gusto into his tone. "Mum sent it to me. Hey, let's make a morning of it. It'll be fun."

After a bit more shuffling, yawning, and some teeth brushing, the four boys sat down on the floor around the board. Seamus pulled out the question booklet. "Who first?" he asked. This would be good. He'd get some cute girl, and if it was someone good, he'd ask her out and forget all about the Krum fiasco.

"I'll go," Dean said. "Fire away."

"You'll get Ginny," Seamus teased.

"Nah, we broke up. Well, she did more of the breaking than me," Dean admitted.

"Eh, when was this?"

"After the All Hallows Ball," Dean answered blandly. The wound was a week old already, and it didn't seem like true love, though it wasn't as if he was completely over it or anything.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Seamus insisted. "I'm your best mate!"

"You haven't really been around much, Seamus. It's okay. No big deal. She's kinda bossy anyway. Maybe the next girl will be a little more, you know, complacent, or whatever."

Seamus thought a moment and decided to pick on someone who would be more fun. Someone who didn't have as many relationship issues. "Well, it's my game, I say Neville goes first."

Neville managed to stutter his way through the questions, and Dean's very recently ex-girlfriend came up. Seamus laughed. Right. Who needed lovers as long as you had friends? Not that he and Viktor had been lovers. Some kissing and one measly blow job didn't make them lovers. That had been rather obvious. He barely noticed that Dean was answering questions now--his mind wandering back to those strong hands on his bare, heated skin. He shook his mind out of the gutter and guffawed at Luna Lovegood staring up at Dean in that owlish way she had.

Harry woke. The games continued. Seamus got to thinking--this game is completely barking mad. Harry and Snape? That was ridiculous. His mood was really improving. Yeah, he didn't need some guy, least of all some Bulgarian guy. And then...

...then it was his turn, and in spite of jesting his way through all the questions, Viktor Krum stared up at him with eyes full of accusations. And Seamus felt this knot wrench at his stomach before forcing himself to laugh along. Why couldn't he take it back? Last night...if he could only take last night back, maybe Viktor would have...

_'Would have what, Seamus? Stayed? Don't be stupid. He's this world famous Quidditch player, and you're just a stupid teenager whose hormones control his entire life, that's what.'_

He thought idly that if he'd told Dean any of what he'd been up to, he'd be called an idiot, and his best friend would have said something--just a few words--that made all the pieces fit, forced it all to make perfect sense, and show Seamus what he should do. But Dean was shouldering his own heartache now, even though he acted like it was no big deal. There was no one for Seamus to talk to about this.

So he laughed. He laughed at the results of his friends' compatibility tests, and he laughed at what he'd lost, what he'd thrown away, and his cumbersome pride, and his stupid worries, and all the things he had a week to figure out how to say but missed until they no longer mattered. He laughed at wanting to cry, at falling in love too fast and too hard and not realizing it until it's far, far too late. He laughed because Quidditch was only a game, and somehow, he'd let it dictate his entire life.

It seemed like the only sensible thing he could do, given the circumstances.

_**~The End~** _

_To be continued in **The Game of Love**. Coming soon. ~_

A/N: Okay, so I haven't written one word of tGoL yet, but I am about to get started. Muse permitting, it will be up in a week or two.


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